


rearrange to let you in

by robotchangeling



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gods Doing God Bullshit, M/M, The Creation of Samot, reconfiguration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotchangeling/pseuds/robotchangeling
Summary: a triptych of reconfigurations





	rearrange to let you in

Severea had finally killed Samot. Their current feud blended into the memory of their first meeting millennia past, until she sent her fiercest creatures to swarm him, and the Boy-King was no more.

No matter. Perhaps she’d finally consider them even after all these years.

Severea could not begrudge him this, Samothes reasoned as he readied his forge. She would still have the memory of Samot’s throat beneath her teeth, and, more importantly, so would Samot. It would be worth risking her ire to spare the wait in Tristero’s domain. 

Samothes reached into the past and pulled out the still-warm history, breathed more heat into it until it glowed hot. He went to work, hammering out the final bloody outcome, bending it into something new. There -- a better conclusion, a shape they could work with until the next time.

Samothes put down his tools at last and breathed, a long slow exhale. Samot stood behind him, alive once more, watching his husband complete the work that made him so. Samothes turned and smiled at the sight. “It’s good to see you, love.”

Samot approached, raised a hand to take the one Samothes offered. “It is good to be seen.”

  
  


. . .  


  
  


Samol sat on the river’s edge and shaped the clay in his hands. The physical act might not be necessary; all things existed as a part of him whether he held them in his own hands or not. Truthfully, he preferred it this way, preferred to work a bit of Himself into his creations, to feel the piece as it came into being. And Samol wanted to personally see to this one in particular.

Carefully, he carved off only the harshest shadows. A wolf may survive without its pack, but take away the teeth, the claws in the snow, the howl in the darkest night -- it might forget what it was meant to be entirely. Take away too much of the hunger, of the Dark, and there would be nothing left of the sorry creature Samol had met: a sapling grown in the shade, reaching hungrily towards the light.

Then, instead of taking away, he added. Samol filled the being beneath his hands with all the potential he could offer. Potential to know without taking, to feel the world around him and understand that it belonged to him as he belonged to it. Potential to shape the world as he had been shaped, and to enjoy himself after. 

These things and more he offered, but without holding the creation to anything it didn't want. No, it would be up to the boy to finish shaping himself, to decide what to do with this life he’d been given. Samol was to be a guiding hand in a process that had already begun. Even now, as he put the final touches into his work, he could sense the boy’s eagerness to explore his new life. This one would be a handful; Samol could feel it in his bones.

  
  


. . .  


  
  


This evening was supposed to be a pleasant one, Samot couldn't help but think with more than a hint of bitterness. Samothes had taken the night off, and Samot had agreed to put aside the topic of more schools, at least for today. Instead, they had let themselves fall back into the same disagreement, until Samot threatened to storm out, and Samothes returned to his forge and to the creations that don't argue the core tenets of his philosophy.

Samot let the elevator carry him to the rooms he used as a study. By the time he reached his desk, he found that his anger had boiled off leaving only disappointment. Instead of the book he’d planned to read, he found himself reaching for an empty journal. It was a shame, really, that they had let their tempers get the best of them, but one evening was such a simple thing to fix. It would take hardly any effort at all.

Samot began with an account of the evening: straightforward, simple. Once that was established he went to work editing and rewriting. He crossed out lines, added footnotes, shifted paragraphs into a more pleasant arrangement. Or perhaps -- yes, better to leave that blank for now, better to give themselves another chance to make it better together. Samot tore out all but the first pages and felt the memories sink in his mind. Still remembered by both of them, but with an awareness that it was only one possible future.

When Samot returned, it was to find Samothes waiting for him with a bottle of wine in hand -- a variety that had only been found across the continent until mere minutes ago. A peace offering; he’d been hard at work, too, it seemed. He smiled as Samot approached, apologetic. “Shall we try this again?” Samothes offered gently.

Samot took a moment to lace their fingers together, to look his husband in the eyes. “We’ll do it better this time around.”

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you're gods with god powers so you've gotta be Extra instead of just, you know, talking to each other
> 
> title is from "historians" by lucy dacus 
> 
> find me on tumblr @littlesocialistrobot


End file.
